


Something Impressive

by kalijean



Series: Arch to the Sky [1]
Category: due South
Genre: Arch to the Sky, Family, Gen, Leaside (1971-1990)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-20
Updated: 2011-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:22:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalijean/pseuds/kalijean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1971: Renfield Jacob Turnbull's first Christmas, and his sister would much rather have kept him upstairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Impressive

The baby had been there all of a month and a half and Myra was still trying to figure out how he'd ended up stuck to her side instead of their mother's.

Mrs. Turnbull hadn't exactly _handed_ Renfield to Myra. It had just sort of fallen naturally to this arrangement. Babies found the human face fascinating. This, Myra understood intellectually, was a fact of infants the world over. But the way in which those big blue eyes took in her face as something captivating had owned her instantly, and she hadn't really wanted to let him go since.

Her mother seemed content with the arrangement. Myra had been too, for several days; giving her brother back for feedings and for the reasonable amount of time a mother should probably spend with her newborn, but whenever there was a spare moment, Myra had the boy in her arms. Often, he slept on her chest.

She had been less than enthused when changing, burping and other more distasteful duties had begun to fall to her. Myra _was_ fourteen, after all, and there was only so far teenage fancy could carry a girl before reality reasserted itself in all its pungent glory.

Still, those eyes owned her.

Somewhere along the way, her parents seemed to forget, somewhat, that Myra wasn't _meant_ to be doing so much of these things. It wasn't malicious. It wasn't even particularly careless; they still spent time with the baby. Myra wasn't doing all the work. Just... what was needed when Myra was home, and conversely, somewhere along the way, Myra forgot to mention that she'd really rather not be changing diapers. She couldn't blame them, and part of her didn't really want to break the spell.

So that was how it carried forward.

Renfield wasn't a terribly demanding baby, but Myra wouldn't have known from that. He had big eyes and a silly grin and a grabby love for his sister's curly, long hair. She had found an entertaining variety of substances in her hair since Renfield had learned to hang on to it like a security blanket. The fact that she was reasonably comfortable with this fact should have startled a fourteen-year-old girl more than it did.

School was out for Christmas and that meant the baby was with her nearly every waking hour, something that was inadvisable to the report she had to do over the school break as well as the slowly gathering family downstairs. She didn't want to remove Renfield from her arms. Renfield most expressly did not want removed from her arms, judging by the fuss he made every time he was placed in his crib, so it was really only the report that was contrary.

"How on Earth did this happen?" She asked the infant in a silly voice, earning a delighted coo in response. "I don't know. No. But I love you." She smiled brightly and crossed her eyes, knowing even with blurred vision that those big eyes were peering with fascination over her face.

That little hand went into the curtain of her hair and she felt the grasp reflex do its work. The patch of scalp for that particular strand had become somewhat hypersensitive by now, but she didn't mind. She walked her little brother to the window, pushing open the curtain to look out at the snow beyond. It was dark out. A street lamp illuminated a circle of white outside of their home, as well as the gathered cars in the drive. Their aunt was due in earlier in the day, but had been delayed. For reasons that Myra had never been able to fathom, their aunt had never seemed to like her. She hadn't met Renfield yet. Myra had to wonder what it was that had tipped the balance thirteen years before, and would privately admit to worrying that Renfield might commit some unfathomable slight to earn the same opinion.

For that matter, Myra had to admit to herself a strange reluctance to _share_.

"I am completely insane, aren't I?" She asked Renfield, dropping the silly voice and leaning forward to the window to let him touch at it with little fingers. "I believe I am. Oh well."

Yes. Her aunt was pulling in, headlights cutting across the snowfall. Myra frowned at her brother, whose eyes dipped to that frown to study it.

"Could I ask you to leave something impressive in your diaper just after I hand you over?" Her eyebrows were up, and a moment later, she smiled. "That was mean, wasn't it? Our secret?"

Renfield grinned widely. Myra decided to take that as a 'yes'.

The knock at her doorframe was soft, and Myra turned to see her mother standing in the open door, amusement in her expression.

_...and how long have you been standing there?_

"Is it really so bad, Myra, that you've been driven to plotting with your baby brother?"

_Long enough._

"She doesn't like me, Mum."

"Nonsense. She's just a little scatterbrained."

"Last year she gave the boys money and me an old sweater."

"It wasn't old, it was very nice, and it suited you."

"It smelled like mothballs. When I thanked her for it she complimented me on my manners."

"See? She was being thoughtful."

"She said she was pleased I'd finally gotten some."

Her mother's face softened, and she sighed. "We can't choose our family, Myra. Please come downstairs. I will make it up to you later, I promise."

Myra tightened her hold around her brother a fraction, looking at him. "What if she doesn't like him, too?"

Mrs. Turnbull studied the pair for a long moment. "Then you can carry through your plot to register your resentment via his diaper."

 

All right, so that had not gone well.

At least, not by most people's standards. Perhaps it was just a matter of perspective. Myra's, specifically.

She'd been gifted yet another ugly sweater. Thankfully, it hadn't the aroma of the previous year's gift, but that hardly improved the color. Myra was a good girl. She accepted it gracefully and had even contained her discomfort at the baby being passed around the room, those big eyes searching other faces. Theirs was a big family, fragmented though it was most of the year.

It didn't occur to her that passing a baby around quite that much might be akin to shaking a bottle of soda before opening it.

Myra fancied, in retrospect, that those blue eyes that searched each relation's face in turn had twinkled a bit when Renfield was handed to their aunt. She’d cooed and bounced him gently on her lap, holding him up to look up at him. Perhaps it was coincidence. Perhaps it was a Christmas miracle. Perhaps Renfield was a far more intelligent baby than should have been possible, and had thought better of Myra's suggested plan and built upon it.

Her mouth had been open. That was particularly triumphant.

The cascade of spit-up had been punctuated with a delighted burp. The resulting scramble for towels and soap and composure in the wake of _oh dear Lord did that really just happen?!_ had found the baby naturally handed back off to Myra.

She had slipped respectfully and quietly away back upstairs before clutching Renfield to her chest and laughing herself completely stupid.


End file.
